


Differentiation

by neveralarch



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-08
Updated: 2011-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>This Doctor was fairly tall, as these things  went.</em> Shameless height kink set in and around a bunch of Three-era serials.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Differentiation

The thing about having a giant version of your best enemy laughing at you was that it really was quite terrifying. The mind parasite was very good, very good indeed, and the Master was dimly aware that he had curled into a huddled ball at some point and only this mental babbling was keeping him sane.

This Doctor was fairly tall, as these things went, the Master thought dreamily, trying to gather up his energy to escape. Not as large as this projection, obviously, but tall all the same. The Doctor's first two bodies had been rather slight, the second one even more so than the first, and the Master had been worried that this would be a continuing trend. He hadn't ever entirely enjoyed being the tall one. But now they had switched places, and wasn't that interesting?

The Master looked up at the cackling spectre and managed to dash out of the room. He closed the doors and then leaned against them, calming the fast respiration that could mean fear or arousal and in this case probably had something to do with both. After a little while he straightened up and brushed down his suit, carefully ignoring the ideas that were forming in the back of his mind.

\---

The Master had a tendency to turn up when you least expected him. Except that since his return, the Doctor had been expecting him everywhere, to the point of looking over his shoulder at UNIT to make sure the Master wasn't hypnotizing some poor recruit.

Seeing the Master on Uxarieus' benighted colony was thus a dual surprise, as the Doctor had gotten too caught up in the tension between the company and the settlers to remember to expect the Master. The only consolation was that the Master seemed more discomfited than delighted in the Doctor's appearance. For once their meeting appeared not to have been engineered on the Master's part.

The Master hastily adjourned the negotiations, beckoning the Doctor to conference. The Doctor followed him into a separate room, shaking his head at Jo when she started to join them. Once inside, he closed the blinds and stood away from the doorway, giving them some measure of privacy.

"I should hope you don't plan to expose me, Doctor," said the Master, without preamble. "It could go quite badly for both of us."

"Is that a threat?" asked the Doctor. It probably was. The Master did enjoy making them.

"Not a physical one. Perhaps it isn't a threat at all - did you remember to have your TARDIS fabricate identification for you? What will happen if I denounce you as an illegal immigrant or a ship pirate?"

"The people here trust me even if I haven't got any stuffy papers," muttered the Doctor.

"Don't be naive," laughed the Master. "Without those papers, you don't exist."

The Doctor fumed for a moment, caught out. The Master always seemed to have a retort at hand. Except for when- now _there_ was an idea.

The Doctor grabbed the Master by his ridiculous collar/cape patented adjudicator disguise and dragged him up into a harsh kiss.

His intention had been to shove the Master away after a moment, thereby making the man frustrated and unable to complain without admitting that he wanted the Doctor. It had been one of his favorite tactics back when they were in the academy, and he certainly wasn't too old to resort to schoolboy tricks.

Except the Master opened his mouth and clung to the Doctor's jacket and stifled a moan, and it turned out that the Doctor was either much less hard-hearted or much less sexually satisfied than he had been as a schoolboy. He hoped the blinds were adequately shielding them from view, because he had no intention of stopping now.

Though his neck was starting to ache, the dull irritating pain of the stretch interfering with the crisp pleasure-laced sting of the Master biting his lip. The man was really a damnably inconvenient height this time around. The Doctor detached a hand from the collar, which seemed to be made of cardboard and was crumpling under his fingers, and fumbled around for a chair. He grasped the back of one and pulled it underneath him, sitting down in a smooth motion. There. Now the Master could have his own neck stretched, and see how he liked it.

The Master broke away to glare. The Doctor raised his eyebrows, challenging, but the Master apparently wasn't willing to voice his objections. Instead he just smiled, tightly, and shoved his way onto the Doctor's lap, despite the Doctor's attempts to fend him off.

This position was, admittedly, slightly more comfortable, but only slightly. Eventually the Doctor gave up on the kissing and tilted his head back, hoping the Master might be content with sucking on his neck instead of his mouth. Unfortunately, the Master was content. So content that he tucked his head under the Doctor's chin and sighed happily, completely ignoring the erogenous zones being tickled by his beard.

The Doctor quickly found himself remembering how to practice detachment and kick the useless devil out of his bed. Or lap, as the case may be. And serve him right if the assembled company noticed that the Master's adjudicator's collar was irretrievably wrinkled and crunched.

\---

Height was all very well, but it wasn't everything. Especially not in fencing. Speed of the wrist and the foot, that was the ticket, and the Master hadn't been keeping in practice. If he had been, the Doctor would never have been able to beat him so humiliatingly in their recent bout, taking his sabre away not once, but twice.

The Master parried an imaginary blade and then lunged at the practice dummy. His hand shot out a moment after his foot, far too late, he'd already been stabbed. He growled and returned to on-guard, his off-hand taking its place at his hip once more.

Swords and stasers were the most common weapons in the universe, and it was imperative he be expert with both. Stasers were simple - one needed only a good eye and a steady hand. Swords, on the other hand... well. The Master was under no illusions about his figure, and knew it to be markedly unsuited to fencing this time around. More height would have meant a longer reach; stronger arms would have meant greater power in cutting through parries. The Doctor had used those very attributes to great advantage, despite his laughable form.

The Master replayed the fight in his head, parrying and riposting as he did so. If only he had done _this_ , and _this_ , and not done _that_ , the Doctor could have been at his mercy.

The Master got a small, regretful thrill from that thought. He could have won.

But instead he had tried his strength against the Doctor, and been overpowered. Next time he wouldn't make that mistake.

The Master lunged, his hand flying apace of his feet, and his tip skewered the dummy's head. He smiled openly, relishing the thought of future victories. He lent no credence to the niggling little thought that he had rather liked being overpowered.

\---

"No you don't," said the Doctor. He'd been chasing the Master through these corridors for what felt like an age, and there way no way he was going to let the blasted nuisance escape now. He hurtled forward as the Master tried to open his TARDIS and tackled him to the ground.

The Doctor was up again in a moment, pulling the Master up by his wrists. He pressed him back against a wall, pinning him with his full weight.

"Got you," panted the Doctor. "Where are the blueprints?"

The Master just stared at him, eyes wide. His arms were making little twitching motions as he struggled minutely against the Doctor's grip. A glance down revealed that there was something else that wanted to be free as well. His cock, amended the Doctor, as mental images of whatever else might be in the Master's trousers presented themselves.

"Oh, you can't be serious," said the Doctor. "Does running get you all _warm_ or some such nonsense?"

"My dear Doctor," began the Master, probably about to deny any such thing. But he seemed to have decided that shame was for lesser beings, because instead he leaned in and whispered in the Doctor's ear. "This is a low-gravity world, you know."

"Yes, I'd noticed," said the Doctor. "And?"

"And you seem to have me under your power, Doctor. And there is a very convenient wall here. And I happen to know that you couldn't possibly throw your back out supporting my current weight, not when you lead such an active lifestyle."

"I cannot believe you," said the Doctor, swallowing. He let go of the Master's hands, but he didn't back away. Rassilon's ugly skullcap, he probably could hold the Master up with almost no effort. He could really pound into him, too, though obviously they would have to be quick, because the Princess' guards were bound to be somewhere around here.

He probably had shown his thoughts on his face, or the Master just knew him extremely well, because the man was already pulling his own trousers and pants down. The Doctor was briefly relieved to note that there was nothing in them except Master before he began undoing his own belt.

\---

Afterwards they collapsed together, trousers done up again against the cold of the flagstones. The Doctor had managed to hurt his back after all, as well as his coccyx. It turned out that in low-gravity you were liable to throw yourself into the opposite wall if you tried to thrust too hard.

The Master looked entirely too pleased with himself, despite the fact that he had been dropped twice. He kept inching closer to the Doctor, who suspected him of trying to get his head under his chin again. The Doctor nodded down sharply, halting the Master's attempt.

"Is it the running?" asked the Doctor. He wasn't quite sure whether he should avoid doing whatever had set the Master off, or do it as much as possible.

"That would be telling." The Master gave up on the Doctor's chin and simply leaned on his shoulder.

"Something else, then." The Doctor thought back. "Your hands held- tied? Bondage? It's a little gauche to want something so pedestrian, isn't it?"

The Master hummed noncommittally and stood up, patting the Doctor's jacket where his head had just been resting. The sounds of the guards were finally nearing.

"If you'll only tell me," began the Doctor.

"You'll take advantage of it as much as possible," finished the Master. "No, I think not, Doctor. Have a nice time with the Princess and her jailers."

"What?" The Doctor tried to jump up and follow the Master as the man left, but found that he had been neatly handcuffed to an empty torch holder in the wall. He must have been a little fuzzier than he had realized. Well, that would teach him to indulge the Master, thought the Doctor sourly.

\---

For his own part, the Master thought he had finally worked his little fixation out of his system. Two bodies (more or less) later, it turned out he was completely mistaken.


End file.
